


Flashback.

by fannish_bunni



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, Post - Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-29
Updated: 2011-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:44:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannish_bunni/pseuds/fannish_bunni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly and Ron both suffer from bad dreams since the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flashback.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to iamshadow for the beta. *hugs* Thanks for putting in all the commas!

Molly awoke from her nightmare feeling feverish, her forehead damp with sweat. She touched her fingertips against Arthur’s sleeping form, reassuring herself that he was still there. She pushed her limp hair back from her face and swung her legs out of bed.

“Alright, Mollywobbles?” murmured Arthur sleepily.

“Go back to sleep, dear,” she said, trying to sound soothing despite her still pounding heart and shaking hands.

When she had first started having the dreams, she used to wake up and have to rush to the bathroom to throw up. That had stopped now.

At least there was that.

Molly slipped on her dressing gown, put her wand in one pocket, and padded across the bedroom in her bed socks, ignoring the musical slippers that sang “World’s Best Mum” every five minutes.

She walked across the landing, carefully avoiding the loose floorboard and listened outside Percy’s room. He was the only one who didn’t put up a silencing charm on his room and the sound of his almost genteel snores filtered through to her. He had been at home since . . .

At least there was that.

Molly breathed a little easier and padded down the hallway to Ginny’s room. The door was slightly ajar and a faint light filtered through. She pushed the door gently open. Ginny was sitting cross legged on the bed, a knitted blanket draped around her. Hermione was lying on her side, on the mattress at the other side of the room. She was facing away from Molly, her hair wild and an open book on the floor beside her – busy pretending to be asleep.

“Hi Mum,” Ginny said softly, looking up with a faint smile.

Molly smiled back, taking comfort from the sight of her daughter and Hermione obviously staying up talking. She knew there was no point in asking her not to stay up too late. Ginny was as headstrong as she had been at that age - as she still was, if she was honest.

“Don’t you two stay up too late,” she said, unable to help herself.

“Night, Mum.”

“Night Gin,” she said, pulling the door to behind her.

Molly made her way up the stairs, stepping over the creaky third and tenth steps. She hesitated outside George’s room, her hand frozen on the door handle. Light spilled out from beneath it and so she pushed it open. Her heart beat faster for a moment – as it always did – before the twin beds were revealed. Empty.

George sat in an old armchair facing away from the empty beds and towards the window. From that seat you could see the orchard and the chicken coop. But he wasn’t looking out; he was fast asleep. His knees were bent up to his chest and his head lolled at an uncomfortable looking angle.

Molly padded over to put out the three lamps George had lit and he opened his eyes sleepily. He blinked at his Mum for a moment before attempting a smile.

“Late doing the two o’clock checks tonight, aren’t you, warder?” George said, glancing at his watch.

“Didn’t know I was getting so predictable. I’ll have to change the routine. Don’t want the prisoners getting too relaxed,” Molly said, resting her hand on his shoulder.

It was a feeble joke by George’s standards but it was an improvement on being told to ‘F*** off’. And even that had been an improvement on the silence. Straight afterwards he had only sat there, either pretending to be asleep or just ignoring her. He was talking now.

At least there was that.

Molly had long ago stopped telling him to get to bed. She had quickly realised that he didn’t sleep in his bed anymore.

Maybe he couldn’t stand to sleep there and stare across at the empty space.

“Good night, George.”

“Night, Mum.”

Molly gave his shoulder a squeeze and left the room, looking up the stairs towards Ron’s attic bedroom. She knew she shouldn’t really go up there, not when Harry was staying over.

Molly fought with her conscience for a while before going downstairs to the kitchen. She lit the lamps with a flick of her wand and went to the utility room where she had her clock hidden – the one no one knew about.

When they had all come back home after the funeral, Molly had stood there and stared at the old clock for a while. All the hands pointed at ‘Home’, but no amount of staring could bring back Fred’s hand. It had gone. She had always wondered what would happen to a hand if that person where to die. Now she hated herself for ever thinking such a thing.

George – who had been unnaturally silent and pale from Fred’s death up until this point - had followed her gaze up to the clock. He stood there for a moment, his eyes filling with tears, before he ran from the room.

Arthur had taken the clock outside and smashed it into dust with one violent flick of his wand, deaf to her protests and tears.

Unknown to anyone else, she had managed to find another one. Arthur said it had only made her more anxious, that it would be a constant reminder. But she needed it – he just didn’t understand how it felt to see the labelled hands and know that your family was safe. She studied the hands intently for a while, wishing that Charlie and Bill were closer to home.

Molly hid the clock back behind the washing powder and made her way back upstairs. She paused for a moment on the landing outside her bedroom before silently walking up the two flights of stairs to Ron’s attic bedroom. She would just listen outside the door and make sure they were alright. They wouldn’t even know she was there.

She stopped outside his room and tapped her wand quietly to the door, hoping that Ron had set the silencing charm and not Harry. Ron always used the same one. Molly had learnt long ago how to break through that so that she could listen in without anyone else being able to hear. _What sort of mother would she be if she couldn’t protect her children, after all?_

Molly muttered a spell, quietly tapping the door again, and Ron’s voice filtered through, as though she were listening to a rather quiet radio. He sounded a little breathless and scared – perhaps he had been having bad dreams too.

“Git. Don't you ever leave me like that again.”

“I won’t,” Harry replied.

“Promise,” Ron whispered. So quietly that Molly could hardly make it out. She strained to hear what was said next.

Then there was the sound of . . . of. Molly stepped back and the sound disappeared as her wand lost contact with the door. She stood there for a moment, her mouth a little round ‘o’ of shock.

They were-

They were-

Molly shook her head to clear it of that particular mental image and turned to walk shakily downstairs. _She shouldn’t be listening to this._ She thought for a moment of Hermione and Ginny and felt a mixture of anger and sorrow.

She walked quietly into her bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed. _What should she do? Should she say something?_ She was still in shock, and sat there staring at the floor, in her mind still standing outside that bedroom door. _How could they do this?_

But then, hadn't a part of her always known that there was only the one for the other? That it was always just the two of them?

Ron had someone. At least there was that. And Harry had someone.

At least there was that.

* * *

Ron thrashed around in his sleep and Harry sat up in his small bed across the room.

“No, please,” Ron mumbled indistinctly, still asleep.

Harry got out of bed and took a step towards Ron, uncertain whether he should go over to him or not.

Ron’s mouth opened wide, his expression terrified, a horrible wailing cry piercing the air. It should have come from some wild animal, not Ron. _Not my Ron._

Harry rushed over and sat beside him, shaking him gently.

“Ron, wake up mate.”

“Harry!” Ron screamed out, jolting awake.

He stared at Harry unseeing with eyes wide for a moment, before he registered Harry and grabbed him in a desperate hug.

Harry put his arms around Ron, his heart beating faster. He felt the tension in Ron’s body, his chest rising and falling against Harry’s. They clutched each other tightly before Ron started to relax. Harry breathed in the scent of his hair and tried not to think of the last time they had hugged like this.

Ron pulled away from him slightly but kept hold of his arms and rested his forehead against Harry’s. Ron’s breathing had slowed now and his expression had softened, the terror gone. Harry met his gaze nervously, and lost himself in those blue depths. His resolve crumbled and thoughts of the last hug – of that early morning after the battle – came flooding back in.

“What was the dream about?” said Harry, trying to break the tension and stop his mind from dwelling on the memory of what it felt like to kiss him, of what Ron looked like when he came.

Ron closed his eyes.

“Same as always. Hagrid walks in carrying you. And you’re . . . and I can’t wake you up. And I . . .” his voice trembled, the dream obviously still fresh in his mind. Ron stopped and opened his eyes again,

“Git. Don’t you ever leave me like that again.”

“I won’t,” said Harry, feeling a lump in his throat.

“Promise,” whispered Ron.

“I promise.”

Then Ron was kissing him. Softly this time, not with the fierce intensity of that early morning but with such tenderness and feeling that Harry sighed into his mouth. Ron’s hand moved to Harry’s hair and they broke apart.

“Sleep in my bed,” Ron asked.

“Did you hear something Ron?” Harry said, standing up and looking at the bedroom door.

“It’s probably just my Mum.”

“Your Mum!”

“She has trouble sleeping,” said Ron.

“We can’t do this Ron,”

“Please, Harry,”

“It’s not right,” Harry said uncertainly.

“I won’t have nightmares then.”

“But not here, Ron. What about Hermione and Ginny?”

“We’re both single, aren’t we?”

“But everyone thinks . . . expects-” Harry paused and ran his hands through his hair. “And you kissed her.”

“She kissed me, and I don’t care what everyone thinks. I need you.”

The bed springs creaked as Ron moved over and grabbed Harry’s hand.

Almost unconsciously, Harry entwined their fingers. He looked down at Ron’s pleading face.

“Move up, then.”

Ron shuffled up and lifted the covers for Harry to get in. He lay there nervously for a moment, before turning on his side to face Ron. They kissed again and Harry decided that he wasn’t going to think about consequences. He needed Ron, and right now that was all there was. That was all that mattered.


End file.
